Bee Monument, ca 1939

29 05 2014

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Barnard Bee, 3rd US Infantry

3 12 2013





Beet Poet – Pt. II

15 02 2007

It seems there is more to the Bee poem.  You can find the details, and more wonderful drawings, here.  The site says that the poem was written in 1856, when Bee was a captain of the 10th Infantry – that is to say, not by a young Bee in Mexico.  Here is the full text (I particularly like the slam to the dragoons):

Our Army is a Motley Crew

In dress and armour, duties too,

And each and all I love to see –

But most I love the Infantry.

In tented field, in Ladies bower

Alike they shine – all feel their power.

Though other corps are dear to me

Yet most I prize the Infantry.

The engineer, with science crowned,

For action, traces out the ground.

Artillery at distance play,

Dragoons sometimes do clear the way.

The sharp advance, the pistol shot,

The quick retreat, at rapid trot!

The foe advances, light and free.

Who meets him then?  The Infantry!

And so that glorious host move on,

Their bayonets glistening in the sun.

Onward they hold their steadfast way

Tho’ deathshots round them madly play

Their comrades slain (?), their banners torn

These noble hearts, still proudly form.

And hark!  A shout – ’tis Victory!

Who would not love the Infantry?





Beet Poet

14 02 2007

My apologies for failing to wish Barnard Bee a happy 183rd birthday last Thursday, February 8.  It’s really inexcusable since I had already written two bits (here and here) about him and his monument.  Mea culpa, General, and I hope you had a grand time on your big day there in your niche.

While searching around for info last week I ran across a drawing and poem that, according to this site, is attributed to young Bee in Mexico.

 

 

bee-poem.jpg

 

Here’s the text of the poem, in case you have trouble reading it:

 

 

Our Army is a Motley Crew

In dress and armour, duties too,

And each and all I love to see –

But most I love the Infantry.

In tented field, in Ladies bower

Alike they shine – all feel their power.

Though other corps are dear to me

Yet most I prize the Infantry.





Bee Redux

6 02 2007

I got some more info on the Bee monument, courtesy of the ever helpful Jim Burgess at Manassas NBP.  The granite monument was erected by the Mary Taliaferro Thompson Southern Memorial Association (MTTSMA) of Washington, DC.  It was dedicated at 2 PM on Friday, July 21, 1939, the 78th anniversary of the battle, nearly a year before the establishment of the Park.

The guest speaker at the dedication was Col. J. Rion McKissick, president of the University of South Carolina.  Miss Anna Rives Evans, president of the Children of the Confederacy of the District of Columbia, unveiled the eight-foot-plus monument.  Mrs. Norma Hardy Britton of the MTTSMA made the presentation and state senator John W. Rust, president of the Manassas Battlefield Association, made the acceptance speech.  A descendant of J.E.B. Stuart, Dr. Warren Stuart, delivered the invocation.  The program also included a recitation by Mrs. Edward Campbell Shield, president of the Stonewall Jackson Chapter of the U.D.C. of Washington.  The last surviving Confederate veteran of Prince William County, Robert Cushing, and another vet, Peter B. Smith of Arlington, were honored guests.

Thanks, Jim!

Also, from the Richmond Dispatch for July 29, 1861:

The following is from the Richmond correspondence of the Charleston Mercury:

The name of this officer deserves a place in the highest niche of fame. He displayed a gallantly that scarcely has a parallel in history. The brunt of the morning’s battle was sustained by his command until past 2 o’clk. Overwhelmed by superior numbers, and compelled to yield before a fire that swept everything before it, Gen. Bee rode up and down his lines, encouraging his troops, by everything that was dear to them, to stand up and repel the tide which threatened them with destruction. At last his own brigade dwindled to a mere handful, with every field officer killed or disabled. He rode up to Gen. Jackson and said: “General, they are beating us back.”

The reply was: “Sir, we’ll give them the bayonet”

Gen. Bee immediately rallied the remnant of his brigade, and his last words to them were: “There is Jackson standing like a stone wall. Let us determine to die here, and we will conquer. Follow me!”

His men obeyed the call; and, at the head of his column, the very moment when the battle was turning in our favor, he fell, mortally wounded. Gen. Beauregard was heard to say he had never seen such gallantry. He never murmured at his suffering, but seemed to be consoled by the reflection that he was doing his duty.





Barnard Bee Monument

2 02 2007

I love to take pictures.  A visit to any battlefield typically yields dozens of images.  In photography I subscribe to a theory similar to that which I follow in boating: if you can’t tie good knots, tie lots of knots.  So, every once in awhile I take a nice picture, but it is purely by accident.

My plan is to post one or two of my photos here every Friday.  I will try to use photos with some Bull Run connection, but will only promise that they will all be associated with the American Civil War.

bee-monument.JPG

First up is the monument to Brigadier General Barnard Bee at First Bull Run, erected in 1939.  I took this in April 2005.  The monument sits on Henry Hill at the site where Bee uttered to the 4th Alabama the immortal words: “There stands Jackson like a stone wall.  Let us determine to die here and we will conquer.” Or perhaps it was “Come with me and go yonder where Jackson stands like a stone wall.”  There are several versions.  Shortly thereafter, between 2:00 and 3:00 PM, Bee was wounded in the abdomen and exclaimed “I am a dead man; I am shot.”  He died the next day at Manassas Junction, and is buried in Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston, SC St. Paul’s Episcopal Churchyard in Pendleton, SC.

Coverage of the “stone wall” incident in an article that first appeared in the Charleston Mercury on July 25 would be reprinted and adapted throughout the Confederacy.  The article was intended to elevate the martyred Bee to “a place in the highest niche of fame”, but in spite of that, and regardless of what Bee meant by them (whether or not they were laudatory, and whether or not Bee said them, is debated to this day), his words as reported would elevate Thomas Jackson and his brigade to legendary status.

 





To Purge This Land With Beer

7 11 2006

I’m working on a number of things for posts here.  In fact, I have taken to yhst-67605305109593_1886_30797.jpgkeeping a notebook with me so that I can write down these ideas as they pop into my head.  This bit is not earth shattering, but cool nonetheless.  Last year I took part in an online book discussion of Stephen Oates’ “To Purge This Land With Blood”, and have to say that Brown is a fascinating character –  I’m envious of the man’s clarity.  There must be great contentment and freedom that goes along with being able to see everything as either black or white.  At left is a version of the Kansas Statehouse mural that I had never seen before.  Thanks to e-quaintance (that’s someone I’ve never met and know only via the internet) and Kansan extraordinaire Pat Jones for supplying the link to Free State Brewing Co.   I asked the wife for one of the long sleeve T-shirts as a birthday present.





2nd Lt. George Armstrong Custer, Co. G, 2nd U. S. Cavalry, On Traveling to the Field and the Battle (Part 1)

20 09 2017

I left West Point on the 18th of July for Washington, delaying a few hours that afternoon on my arrival in New York to enable me to purchase, of the well-known military firm of Horstman’s, my lieutenant’s outfit of sabre, revolver, sash, spurs, etc. Taking the evening train for Washington, I found the cars crowded with troops, officers, and men hastening to the capital.

At each station we passed on the road at which a halt was made, crowds of citizens were assembled provided bountifully with refreshments, which they distributed in the most lavish manner among the troops. Their enthusiasm knew no bounds, they received us with cheers and cheered us in parting. It was no unusual sight, on leaving a station surrounded by these loyal people, to see matrons and maidens embracing and kissing with patriotic fervor the men, entire strangers to them, whom they saw hastening to the defense of the nation.

Arriving at Washington soon after daylight, Saturday morning, the 20th of July, I made my way to the Ebbit House, where I expected to meet some of my classmates domiciled. Among others I found there was Parker, appointed from Missouri, who had been my room- and tent-mate at West Point for years. He was one of the few members of my class who, while sympathizing with the south, had remained at the Academy long enough to graduate and secure a diploma. Proceeding to his room without going through the formality of announcing my arrival by sending a card, I found him at that early hour still in bed. Briefly he responded to my anxious inquiry for news, that McDowell’s army was confronting Beauregard’s, and a general engagement was expected hourly. My next inquiry was as to his future plans and intentions, remembering his Southern sympathies. To this he replied by asking me to take from a table near by and read an official order to which he pointed.

Upon opening the document referred to, I found it to be an order from the War Department dismissing from the roles of the army Second Lieutenant James P. Parker, for having tendered his resignation in the face of the enemy. The names of two others of my classmates appeared in the same order. After an hour or more of discussing the dark probabilities of the future as particularly affected by the clouds of impending war, I bade a fond farewell to my former friend and classmate, with whom I had lived on terms of closer intimacy than with any other being. We had eaten day by day at the same table, had struggled together in the effort to master the same problems of study; we had marched by each other’s side year after year, elbow to elbow, when engaged in the duties of drill, parade, etc., and had shared our blankets with each other when learning the requirements of camp life. Henceforth this was all to be thrust from our memory as far as possible, and our paths and aims in life were to run counter to each other in the future.

We separated; he to make his way, as he did immediately, to the seat of the Confederate Government, and accept a commission under a flag raised in rebellion against the government that had educated him, and that he had sworn to defend; I to proceed to the office of the Adjutant General of the Army and report for such duty as might be assigned me in the great work which was then dearest and uppermost in the mind of every loyal citizen of the country.

It was not until after two o’clock in the morning that I obtained an audience with the Adjutant General of the Army and reported to him formally for orders, as my instructions directed me to do. I was greatly impressed by the number of officials I saw and the numerous messengers to be seen flitting from room to room, bearing immense numbers of huge-looking envelopes. The entire department had an air of busy occupation which, taken in connection with the important military events then daily transpiring and hourly expected, and contrasted with the humdrum life I had but lately led as a cadet, added to the bewilderment I naturally felt.

Presenting my order of instructions to the officer who seemed to be in charge of the office, he glanced at it, and was about to give some directions to a subordinate nearby to write out an order assigning me to some duty when, turning to me, he said, “Perhaps you would like to be presented to General Scott, Mr. Custer?” To which I of course joyfully assented.

I had often beheld the towering form of the venerable chieftain during his summer visits to West Point, but that was the extent of my personal acquaintance with him. So strict was the discipline at that Academy that the gulf which separated cadets from commissioned officers seemed greater in practice thant that which separated enlisted men from them. Hence it was rare indeed that a cadet ever had an opportunity to address or be addressed by officers, and it was still more rare to be brought into personal conversation with an officer above the grade of lieutenant or captain, if we except the superintendent of the Academy and the commandant of the corps of cadets. The sight of a general officer, let alone the privilege of speaking to one, was an event to be recounted to one’s friends. In those days the title of general was not so familiar as to be encountered on every hotel register. Besides, the renown of a long lifetime of gallantry in his country’s service had gradually but justly placed General Scott far above all contemporary chieftains in the admiration and hero worship of his fellow countrymen; and in the youthful minds of the West Point cadets of those days Scott was looked up to as a leader whose military abilities were scarcely second to those of a Napoleon, and whose patriotism rivaled that of Washington.

Following the lead of the officers to whom I had reported, I was conducted to the room in which General Scott received his official visitors. I found him seated at a table over which were spread maps and other documents which plainly showed their military character. In the room, and seated near the table, were several members of Congress, of whom I remember Senator Grimes of Iowa.

The topic of conversation was the approaching battle in which General McDowell’s forces were about to engage. General Scott seemed to be explaining to the congressmen the position, as shown by the map, of the contending armies. The adjutant general called General Scott’s attention to me by saying, “General, this is Lieutenant Custer of the Second Cavalry; he has just reported from West Point and I did not know but that you might have some special orders for him.”

Looking at me for a moment, the general shook me cordially by the hand, saying, “Well, my young friend, I am glad to welcome you to the service at this critical time. Our country has need of the strong arms of all her loyal sons in this emergency.” Then, turning to the adjutant general, he inquired to what company I had been assigned. “To Company G, Second Cavalry, now under Major Innis Palmer, with General McDowell,” was the reply. Then, addressing me, the general said, “We have had the assistance of quite a number of you young men from the Academy, drilling volunteers, etc. Now what can I do for you? Would you prefer to be ordered to report to General Mansfield to aid in this work, or is your desire for something more active?”

Although overwhelmed by such condescension upon the part of one so superior in rank to any officer with whom I had been brought in immediate contact, I ventured to stammer out that I earnestly desired to be ordered to at once join my company, then with General McDowell, as I was anxious to see active service. “A very commendable resolution, young man,” was the reply; then, turning to the adjutant general, he added, “Make out ;lieutenant Custer’s orders directing him to proceed to his company at once”; then, as if a different project had presented itself, he inquired of me if I had been able to provided myself with a mount for the field. I relpied that I had not, but would set myself about doing so at once.

“I fear you have a difficult task before you, because, if rumor is correct, every serviceable horse in the city has been bought, borrowed, or begged by citizens who have gone or are going as spectators to witness the battle. Beauregard may capture some of them and teach them a lesson. However, I what I desire to say to you is, go and provide yourself with a horse if possible, and call here at seven o’clock this evening. I desire to send some dispatches to General McDowell, and you can be the bearer of them. You are not afraid of a night ride, are you?”

Exchanging salutations, I left the presence of the general-in-chief, delighted at the prospect of being at once thrown into active service, perhaps participating in the great battle which everyone there knew was on the eve of occurring; but more than this my pride as a soldier was not a little heightened by the fact that almost upon my first entering the service I was to be the bearer of important official dispatches from the general-in-chief to the general commanding the principal army in the field.

I had yet a difficult task before me in procuring a mount. I visited all the prominent livery stables, but received almost the same answer from each, the substance of which was that I was too late; all the serviceable horses had been let or engaged. I was almost in despair of the idea that I was not to be able to take advantage of the splendid opportunity for distinction opened before me, and was at a loss what to do, or to whom to apply for advice, when I met on Pennsylvania Avenue a soldier in uniform, whom I at once recognizes as one of the detachment formerly stationed at West Point, who left with those ordered suddenly to the defense of Washington at the time of Mr. Lincoln’s inauguration, when it was feared attempts would be made to assassinate the president-elect.

Glad to encounter anyone I had ever seen before, I approached and asked him what he was doing in Washington. He answered that he belonged to Griffin’s battery, which was then with McDowell’s forces at the front, and had returned to Washington by Captain Griffin’s order, to obtain and take back with him an extra horse left by the battery on its departure from the capital. Here then was my opportunity, and I at once availed myself of it. It was the intention of this man to set out on his return at once; but at my earnest solicitation he consented to defer his departure until after seven o’clock, agreeing also to have the extra horse saddled and in readiness for me.

Promptly at seven o’clock I reported at the adjutant general’s office, obtaining my dispatches, and with no baggage or extra clothing to weigh down my horse, save what I carried on my person, I repaired to the point at which I was to find my horse and companion for the night. Upon arriving there I was both surprised and delighted to discover that the horse which accident seemed to have provided for me was a favorite one ridden by me often when learning the cavalry exercises at West Point. Those who were cadets just before the war will probably recall him to mind when I give the name “Wellington,” by which he was then known.

Crossing Long Bridge about nightfall, and taking the Fairfax Court House road for Centreville, the hours of night flew quickly past, engrossed as my mind was with the excitement and serious novelty of the occasion as well as occasionally diverted by the conversation of my companion. I was particularly interested with his description, given as we rode in the silent darkness, of a skirmish days before at Blackburn’s Ford, between the forces of the enemy stationed there and a reconnoitering detachment sent from General McDowell’s army; especially when I learned that my company had borne an honorable part of the battle.

It was between two and three o’clock in the morning when we reached the army near Centreville. The men had already breakfasted, and many of the regiments had been formed in column in the roads ready to resume the march; but owing to delays in starting, most of the men were lying on the ground, endeavoring to catch a few minutes more of sleep; others were sitting or standing in small groups smoking and chatting.

So filled did I find the road with soldiers that it was with difficulty my horse could pick his way among the sleeping bodies without disturbing them. But for my companion I should have had considerable difficulty in finding my way to headquarters, but he seemed familiar with the localities even in the darkness, and soon conducted me to a group of tents near which a large log fire was blazing, throwing a bright light over the entire scene for some distance around.

As I approached, the sound of my horse’s hoofs brought an officer from one of the tents nearest to where I halted. Advancing toward me, he inquired who I wanted to see. I informed him I was the bearer of dispatches from General Scott to General McDowell. “I will relieve you of them,” was his reply, but seeing me hesitate to deliver them, he added, “I am Major Wadsworth of McDowell’s staff.”

While I had hoped from ambitious pride to have an opportunity to deliver the dispatches in person to General McDowell, I could not decline longer, so placed the documents in Major Wadsworth’s hands, who took them to a tent a few paces distant, where, through half-open folds, I saw him hand them to a large, portly officer, whom I at once recognized to be General McDowell. Then, returning to where I still sat my horse, Major Wadsworth…asked me of the latest news in the capital, and when I replied that every person at Washington was looking to the army for news, he added, “Well, I guess they will not have to wait much longer. The entire army is under arms, and moving to attack the enemy today.” After inquiring at what hour I left Washington, and remarking that I must be tired, Major Wadsworth asked me to dismount and have some breakfast, as it would be difficult to say when another opportunity would occur.

I was very hungry, and rest would not have been unacceptable, but in my inexperience I partly imagined, particularly while in the presence of the white-haired officer who gave the invitation, that hunger and fatigue were conditions of feeling which a soldier, especially a young one, should not acknowledge. Therefore, with an appetite almost craving, I declined the kind proffer of the major. But when he suggested that I dismount and allow my horse to be fed I gladly assented.

While Major Wadsworth was kindly interesting himself in the welfare of my horse, I had the good fortune to discover in an officer at headquarters one of my recent West Point friends, Lieutenant Kingsbury, aide-de-camp to General McDowell. He repeated the invitation just given by Major Wadsworth in regard to breakfast, but I did not have the perseverance to again refuse.

Near the log fire already mentioned were some servants busily engaged in removing the remains of breakfast. A word from Kingsbury, and they soon prepared me a cup of coffee, a steak, and some Virginia corn bread, to which I did ample justice. Had I known, however, that I was not to have an opportunity to taste food during the next thirty hours, I should have appreciated the opportunity I then enjoyed even more highly.

As I sat on the ground sipping my coffee, and heartily enjoying my first breakfast inn the field, Kingsbury (afterward Colonel Kingsbury, killed at the Battle of Antietam) informed me of the general movement then begun by the army, and of the attack which was to be made on Beauregard’s forces that day.

Three days before, I had quitted school at West Point. I was about to witness the first grand struggle in open battle between the union and secession armies; a struggle which, fortunately for the nation, the Union forces were to suffer defeat, while the cause for which they fought was to derive from it renewed strength and encouragement.

From Civil War Times Illustrated (submitted there by Peter Cozzens), Custer’s First Stand, Vol. XXXVII, No. 6, December, 1998

Part 2
Part 3





Presentation at Brandy Station Foundation

18 09 2017

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Next Sunday, September 24th, I’ll be presenting Kilpatrick Family Ties to the good folks at the Brandy Station Foundation. Follow the link and click on Seminar Series in the left hand column. The venue is The Graffiti House, 19484 Brandy Rd, Va, 22714, start time is 2 PM, and it’s all free. This will be the third go-around for this presentation, and as usual I’ve added a few things (and will probably add a few more in the next few days).

Do stop by if you have the time and inclination.

On Saturday, the plan is to meet up with some friends and do a little Kilpatrick chasing around Culpeper. I know, Kilpatrick was not a Bull Run – he’d already been seriously wounded at Big Bethel. But his is a fun story. At least, the story I found is fun. I think.





Charles H. Pierce, Co. D, Marine Battalion, On the Eve of the Battle

7 09 2017

Encampment of U. S. Marine Battalion
14 miles north of Manassas Junction, Virginia
Saturday July 20, 1861

Mother,

We crossed the Potomac last Tuesday and joined the advancing army. We marched all day & encamped at night near Fairfax Court House where the enemy were located in numbers to the amount of 10,000. Next morning we took the town after a short contest. The Southern Troops under General Beauregard fell back to a place two miles from where we now are.

We remained all day at Fairfax & next morning marched to attack Beauregard. We were repulsed and had to fall back. The 69th New York Regiment, it is said, had 40 men killed. We are now encamped in an old field by the side of the road, awaiting guns to come up from Washington, before we make another attack. They will be here tomorrow. We should take Manassas Junction next week and then push on to Richmond. I have suffered dreadfully since I have been on the march. The roads are hot & dusty, water is scarce, & I have often wished I could get shot to get clear of the intolerable thirst. My feet are all blistered & sore. We have to rest at night & every morning I feel almost unable to get up off the ground upon which we all have to sleep. I am writing this letter on my knee sitting in the shade under a tree. Write as soon as you get this and direct the letter as follows:

Company D Marine Battalion
Near Manassas Junction, Virginia

Tell me what the papers say about us. I mean what accounts do they give of our intentions.

We are within five miles of the enemy who are very numerous and strong, entrenched (they say but no one knows anything about their strength.)

Charles H. Pierce

I do not have an idea that I shall get shot. But I do not believe I can stand the hardships of the march much longer. You may consider this a letter from the battlefield, for mighty is war going on between our advanced guards & the enemy at a place called Centreville.

Museum Quality Americana auction site, Sept. 2017

Letter image and transcription

Contributed by John Hennessy